These two Russian guys are fishing with a hand grenade. It turns out about like you'd expect.
This is why I don't like hand grenades. Because some five second fuses burn down in three seconds.
Of all the stuff I worked with in the Army, I disliked hand grenades the whole time. So much pain in such a little package. These bozos are lucky they're not both dead.
There's an old saying:
"After the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is no long your friend."
Lived it, worked with it, played with it.
One day in 1969, on the Song Be riverbanks, I was toying with the guys in my platoon. The day before, one disgruntled grunt threatened me with a grenade in my bunk on a dark night.
(As if we ever slept in bunks ... we lived in the field except for an overnight 'stand-down' in the Division Area every three weeks.)
He was threatening to grenade me, because I was his Platoon Sergeant. So I grabbed a grenade from my ALICE gear, pulled the pin, and held it out to him.
"Take it; do it now".
He didn't take the grenade, so I released the handle.
"PING!" it went.
He dove for cover. I dropped the grenade into the river. It went "BOOM" and sprayed me with a lot of water.
The guy crawled to his feet. I offered him another hand grenade.
He didn't take it.
He didn't threaten me again. Ever. (But he was my permanent Point Man from then on. He never complained, and he was a damn good point man.)
Sometimes, Mr. Grenade IS your friend.
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